Loyalties Lie
by Lerolain
Summary: A woman walks down a dark street, sure someone or something is behind her. Anything more will spoil the plot.
1. The Street

As always, anything you recognise isn't mine.

This is just a shortie, with only a couple more chapters after this. I was writing the plot for a longer fic and this came to me. Actually, the title came to me and then I had to come up with a story to go with it. Well, it helped pass an otherwise dull afternoon at work :)

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Clutching her bag nervously, Isganna quickened her pace. The darkness of the winter evening on the City street closed in around her. Each step sounded unnaturally loud, a beacon drawing all the terrifying things lurking in the night toward her. 

She would rather have been at home, safe in the light of her fire, with a book in one hand and a hot drink in the other. Isganna could afford some luxuries like books. She was a dressmaker for some of the richest ladies in the City and her services were not cheap. It was her trade that called her out into the night to her fourth fitting of the day. Her clientele chose her loyally every time they wanted something new. She did everything she could to accommodate them and maintain her reputation as the best.

A torch sputtered and died ahead of her and she shivered. The City was full of strange occurrences like that. She wondered what her clients would say if they could see her jumping at nothing. She tried to rearrange her calm and confident mask. Certain things were expected of a dressmaker, just like a lady. One had to be sensible at all times. Isganna smiled to herself. One had to _appear_ to be sensible. Appearances were very important to the noble elite of the City.

A movement caught her eye. She turned to see a tile clatter onto the pavement. Her heart pounding, she looked up sharply. Was that an innocent shadow on the rooftop, or a man? Deciding she didn't really want to know, Isganna moved off down the street, rubbery knees not working nearly fast enough.

Isganna disliked the dark. Ever since childhood nameless terrors had waited for her in the night, hiding in her cupboard and under her bed. Walking the streets, undeniably dangerous at the best of times, revived these fears. The feeling that there was something behind her gave her prickles on her neck. She turned quickly.

Nothing. Just the empty street. In a way, that was worse than seeing someone there.

She turned down Oak Avenue with a sigh of relief. Here in this affluent district the streets were well lit and patrolled by City Watch. She was not far from her destination now, with just two streets to go. Despite the reassurance she felt from their presence she did not spare the Watchmen a single glance. In this district she could not afford to let her mask slip.

She knocked on the door of Seventy Five Matchless Street. She greeted the butler who greeted her with a courteous nod and introduced herself. As he closed the door behind her she glanced back into the street. It was deserted.

The Lady Marette stood on a box while Isganna took the measurements she needed. The Lady had two friends staying with her and they sat in on the fitting. The three aristocrats gossiped and joked and ignored Isganna. This was the way the dressmaker preferred it. She did not like to be drawn into conversation with anybody.

Most of the nobles she sewed for ignored her. Those of noble blood treated all those beneath them as merely furniture that moved. That is, those not considered eccentric (or worse, progressive) by their peers. Even if they had been minded to chatter, Isganna would be the first to admit she did not appear friendly or approachable. It was a trait she had worked hard at perfecting.

So she ignored much of what the nobles spoke of. The best way to be discreet with the secrets that were spilled in front of her was not to hear them at all.

She waited for a natural break in the conversation before saying quietly 'I am done, madam.'

The Lady dressed again and Isganna fastened her buttons without needing to be asked. She curtseyed low as the nobles swept out without glancing at her. Once the door was safely closed she stood. They seemed not to notice, but had she not curtseyed they would soon have reprimanded her.

The dressing room was littered with paper, pins and fabric samples, tossed where Lady Marette had discarded them. Isganna collected the small pile of approved fabrics and tied them with a piece of spare ribbon. She folded the others neatly and tucked them into her bag. Next she gathered the paper patterns pieces and folded them, ensuring each was clearly marked with its details in charcoal. While she tidied she thought about possible designs. Lady Marette's shape was still fresh in her mind and she began to think about which features should be hidden and which should be emphasised.

It was this skill that had allowed Isganna to quickly rise above the ranks of long established dressmakers to become one of the most sought after in the City. Her own dress advertised this skill. Tight sleeves displayed slender arms, while a corset with a pointed waist lengthened her torso. She caught sight of herself in the triple mirror, showing her front and back, and she paused to look.

Isganna was of average height. She had pretty features but they wore a permanent pinched and hard expression. She often bought cloth from a man called Perry, who always told her she had the eyes of 'someone who doesn't enjoy life enough'. Isganna was inclined to disagree with this harsh assessment. She was well aware of the expressionless front she wore. Wisps of hair had escaped from her tightly arranged bun and she tucked them back. The tight hairstyle further emphasised the austere cast to her face.

But it was slipping tonight. She looked tired. Dark shadows rimmed her eyes. The warmth of the room had flushed her cheeks and lips with blood. Isganna scowled at this unaccustomed colour and turned away.

There was a low chair in front of the fire with a table beside it. She gathered the last of her belongings and put them together on the table, intending to pack them later. She had a new pair of expensive steel scissors of which she was particularly proud. Her name was engraved in flowing script on the blades, a small vanity she had paid extra for on a whim. She placed them carefully on the top of the pile, and taking a pile of papers onto her lap, set about putting her ideas down.

An hour later she was still working on possible designs. She had seven sketches when she put down her charcoal stick and rubbed her eyes. She knew she was just delaying the inevitable trip home through the night now, and that the longer she left it the more chance there was that some criminal would accost her. She picked her bag up from the floor beside her and turned to the table to pack her things.

Her scissors were not there.

'They were right here,' she murmured. She stood and walked around the table to see if they had fallen to the floor.

A patch of darkness detached itself from the wall behind her and crept forward, arm raised. The firelight played on a blackjack in the shadow man's hand.


	2. The House

Disclaimer: I don't own Garrett or anything else that I've taken from the game.

There were a few typos in the first section for which I humbly apologise. I have tried to correct them but they won't go away. Typos are evil and must be stopped before they take over the world.

XXX

The House

I creep up behind the woman, blackjack raised. She's noticed something is missing and I can't let her raise the alarm, can I?

She tenses. I bring the blackjack down. I hit nothing but empty space. She rolls sideways, legs crashing into mine. We hit the floor in a heap and she has a blade at my throat. What in the hells…?

'Don't move, thief,' she says. 'I imagine you're responsible for my lost scissors, so I'll take them back before this goes any further.'

I feel her rummage in my belt pouch, and she takes out the scissors. They weren't worth much anyway, and I have much better loot in there. But having something so recently stolen taken back stings my professional pride.

'You're Garrett, aren't you?' she says. She sounds coldly indifferent. She could be talking about the weather.

'That depends whether you're going to call for the Watch,' I say. 'If you are, my name is John. If you are not, then yes, I am.'

She nods. 'I thought so. It's the eye. It gives you away.'

'Is there a point to this pleasant little chat? I have business to attend to and I don't –' she puts pressure on her knife and cuts me off.

'Let me tell you, Garrett, that you have put me in an awkward position. Should I scream for help? In doing so I would put myself at risk. To be spoken of in the same breath as you would be a terrible scandal among the stupid nobility. My clients would scatter like dockrats caught redhanded. And if I let you go, I risk being linked with you anyway when news of your theft here tonight gets out.'

I think I see where logic is leading her. It'll be a smaller scandal for her to turn me in. Though it's hard to reason when you find yourself with a knife at your throat, I know what I'd do if the positions were reversed.

'It would be easier for us both if you had chosen another house tonight,' she says ruefully. I couldn't agree more.

'I can make it worth your while to let me go,' I say. I feel cheap for resorting to bribery, but her grip on my throat isn't loosening.

She laughs bitterly. 'I don't want your stolen money. I gave that up a long time ago. If I take away this knife, will you just go?'

'You took stolen money?' I say.

She stiffens. She didn't mean to say that. I could be on to something here.

'I was a dockrat. I ran with the Light Fingers until I was twelve, when I picked a larger purse than I was expecting. I used the money to buy myself an apprenticeship and I left the streets behind. You could really learn from my example,' she adds sharply.

'Then you can't turn me in,' I say. 'Loyalty between thieves.'

This time her laugh is more genuine. 'The only loyalty of a thief is to money,' she says, but she takes the pressure from my throat.

I press home this advantage. 'Are we going to sit here all night? Because, although it's pleasant, I've a living to earn.'

She pushes me away. I stand, rubbing my throat. I feel a few drops of blood. Feeling suddenly courteous, I offer her my hand to assist her up. She ignores it.

'I'm going to give you a headstart,' she says. 'Once I've gathered my things I will wait five minutes. I suggest you use that time to get away. When I go downstairs I am going to tell the butler that I saw someone on the stairs, all dressed in black, running.'

I don't question this. I make for the nearest window and disappear.


	3. Home

Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it isn't mine. If it was, I could do this at work openly instead of on the sly!

I've tried to switch viewpoints between chapters here, and I've also tried different tenses depending on who's speaking. This is purely experimental, so let me know what you think, whether you love or hate it. Remember, it's only polite to review!

Home

Isganna locked her door behind her very securely when she got home, testing it three times. She wanted no unexpected visitors tonight. She bolted her shutters and pulled the heavy curtains over the windows. Then she lit every light in the house and sat before the fire.

Beside her, resting on the chair arm, was a knife, its blade as long as her forearm. She knew she had taken risks tonight, and she knew there might be consequences.

Although she resolved to stay awake as long as she could, she was asleep within minutes.

XXX

She awoke the next morning and checked her valuables. The door and windows were still securely bolted but she didn't trust them. Only when she found nothing had gone did she relax.

She had no appointments to keep that morning. This was not unusual, since the nobles she sewed for did not stir until noon as a rule. She busied herself in her shop, marking shapes with chalk, cutting patterns and putting the finishing touches to a dress she had to deliver that afternoon.

It was midmorning when the Watch knocked on her door.

The two guards who stood in the doorway bowed as she opened it.

'We are most sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but we need to ask you a few questions about an incident last night.'

Isganna stood aside and allowed them inside. They made straight for the fire and warmed themselves as they spoke.

'I understand you were present at Seventy Five Matchless Street between the hours of seven and eleven last night?'

'I was,' she replied, thankful for her years of practice at remaining expressionless.

'And that you saw a person acting suspiciously? Tell us, in your own words, what you saw.'

Isganna frowned slightly. 'There was a man at the top of the stairs as I left the fitting room. I only saw him for a heartbeat before he disappeared. He wore black clothes.'

'Did he have a green eye?'

'It was dark, I really couldn't say.'

'And there's nothing else?' asked the guard. He sounded resigned. He hadn't been expecting to learn anything here but duty demanded he follow up every lead.

'Once I had seen this person I went straightaway to inform the butler of the household. Then I came home. I must apologise that I cannot help you further, but I know no more.' Isganna shook her head. 'It is terrible that someone like that can roam these streets. A person simply doesn't feel safe.'

The guards politely agreed and left the fire somewhat reluctantly. Isganna breathed out in relief once they had gone.

_I shouldn't have done that,_ she thought. _I swore I had left that life behind. I thought I was a completely honest tradeswoman now, that I would be loyal to a longstanding client over a thief without a second thought. You can take the girl out of the street, but you can't take the street out of the girl. I know now where my loyalties lie._

XXX

On the stairs above, a darker patch of shadowlistened. Garrett nodded to himself.

The End

Please review if you came this far. Comments good and bad are most welcome.


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